


It's Showtime

by patchwork_panda



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Rock Band AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchwork_panda/pseuds/patchwork_panda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A famous entertainment company has sent scouts to the small city just in time for a Battle of the Bands competition. As the local bands scramble to find new members and cram in practice sessions, Ja'far, a former bassist, finds himself caught in a feud between two bands. Sinbad, the charismatic leader of the popular Seven Seas Alliance, wants him to join them, but his rival, Ren Kouen, also has his eye on Ja'far. Meanwhile, a shady group from Ja'far's past re-emerges just in time to cause more trouble for him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you play an instrument?”

“Ever wanted to join a band?”

“Give us a call and show us what you’ve got!”

But Ja’far paid no attention to the neatly-printed tabs flapping in the breeze. Instead, he walked right past the three posters, each pasted one right after the other at eye level, into the store, only pulling his scarf down once he was inside where it was warmer. He sighed. This Battle of the Bands thing was getting frighteningly competitive. It was bad enough that these recruitment posters were popping up on every telephone pole and coffee shop window, but three in a row? It left him with the impression that the battle had already begun and that so far, it was being waged over enlisting new talent, each poster louder and more obnoxious than the next, clamoring for attention. Not that he could blame the recruiters for getting so excited. It wasn’t every day that a well-known entertainment company came to your town looking for “the next big thing.” 

Before this month, the twenty-five-year-old hadn’t realized there were so many garage bands in town. He’d seen the occasional group playing at a coffee shop or hear music streaming out of bar doors late at night, but not enough to the point where this oversaturation of posters made sense. Then again, with an announcement this big, he wouldn’t be surprised if a good number of the recruiting bands came from a few towns over. Or maybe he didn’t know this small city as well as he thought he did, Ja’far thought to himself as he rifled through the shelves. He’d only just moved here three years ago. 

Locating the book he wanted, he made his purchase and left the shop, pulling his scarf back over his freckled nose to keep out the chill. As he rounded the corner, another barrage of flyers assaulted his vision and he scowled as one hit him full in the face. Whoever this “Judar” was, Ja’far did not appreciate his style; he didn’t have to blanket the whole town in paper. If this “World on Fire” was that great, they wouldn’t need to look so hard; the name alone would be enough. Speaking of which, Ja’far thought, crumpling up the flyer and throwing it into the nearest trash bin, “World on Fire” was a weird band name. If they really wanted people to join, they’d change it.

He shivered, pulling his scarf closer about his face as the bus pulled in, the sudden breeze scattering his pale bangs over his face like a flurry of snow as a young couple dashed in ahead of him. Unfortunately, as he stepped onto the bus, the driver gave him an apologetic look and placed her hand over the coin slot.

“Sorry kid, bus’s full.”

“Wait, what?” Ja’far sputtered, taken aback. He yanked his scarf down and frowned.

“Yeah, you’ll have to wait for the next one.”

Surprised, Ja’far craned his neck to see down the aisle. Sure enough, it was packed. There wasn’t even any standing room. The two who had rushed past him had taken up the last of it. He groaned.

“Sorry about that. If it makes you feel any better, Harold will be along in another 10 minutes and his bus is pretty much empty.”

“I see, thank you.”

As he trudged off the bus, its doors sliding shut with a pained hiss, something caught his eye. In the shop across the street, it glittered from its perch in the window, a deep emerald green accent on pale canvas-colored acrylic. Even from this far away, the sharp silver strings gleamed as if beckoning to him. Entranced, Ja’far took a step forward and was surprised to find he’d stepped off the curb. He blinked and quickly hurried to the crosswalk. He had ten minutes to kill. What the hell?

“Welcome!” a cheerful girl with a short yellow braid greeted him from the cashier’s desk.

He smiled politely and went to the display, staring up at the bass on its stand. It was even more beautiful up close. Slowly, his gray eyes trailed down the neck of the guitar and stopped at the pattern of black diamonds etched on the body’s polished surface. Maybe this wasn’t a bass at all, but a magnet. How else was he to explain how it had drawn him here from so far away? He heard the plastic bag on his arm crinkle as his hand gradually moved forward on its own; his fingers brushed the instrument.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

Startled, Ja’far snapped his hand back and looked down to see that the blonde cashier had suddenly appeared by his elbow. How had she moved so fast?

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, returning his gaze to the display. The girl at his side watched him shrewdly as he stared at the bass.

“You wanna try it out?”

“I’m just looking,” he said, but it seemed she hadn’t heard him. Very light on her feet, she was already climbing up the stand and before he could protest, she quickly shoved the bass into his hands. A few people looked up from the shelves to see what the commotion was about and Ja’far felt himself flush with embarrassment at the unexpected attention.

“I have a bus to catch!” he tried to shout, but the cashier had already hurried off and was nowhere to be seen. He looked down at the bass gleaming in his hands. He hadn’t played in years, but upon feeling the full weight of the instrument in his hands, something stirred within him. His fingers found the frets on their own and he strummed. At once, a low, unearthly sound washed over the store in waves. It resonated in his blood like an electric current, filling him to the brim with something he thought he’d long since forgotten until it overflowed from his center to his fingertips.

He began to play. Like a man slowly waking from a dream, his fingers moved, sluggishly at first, then faster and faster as he fluidly changed chords. The song he helped write many years ago came back to him, and the low dulcet tones enveloped the room. He could no longer feel the eyes of the people around him because his own eyelids had slid shut ages ago. The world had disappeared, plunged into a darkness so complete that sight was rendered worthless. The muse that lay dormant in his soul stirred and awoke, singing, no, screaming her joy through the notes echoing from his fingertips from finally being called upon at last, after all the years. His fingers burned, sensitive against the harsh metal strings because his calluses had slowly softened over the years but he didn’t care. Right here, right now, everything was right. It no longer mattered that he hated his job or that he didn’t have a single person he could call a friend in this city. He had connected with this guitar and for now, it was only him and the music.

When he stopped at last, a long satisfied breath escaping his lips, he opened his eyes to a room that had gone deathly silent. Not a single customer spoke a word. All eyes were on him, and all mouths had fallen open, gaping in a staggered row of perfect O’s amongst the shelves. One man in particular, tall and good-looking with long dark purple hair, stood out amongst the rest. Unlike the others, whose eyes were slightly unfocused, his were trained, laser-like in their intensity, on Ja’far.  
At once, the room burst into applause and the blonde cashier had run over to him, squealing with glee and jabbering like a small bird, her red-feathered earrings swinging every which way as she bounced up and down in her excitement. It took Ja’far a moment to understand the sounds coming out of her mouth, but when the words finally registered in his mind, the tall man with the dark hair had made his way over to him and had both Ja’far’s hands clasped in his.

“He’s perfect! See I told you, Sin, I told you!” the cashier squealed.

“Yes, you did. Thank you, Pisti,” the man called ‘Sin’ laughed, his golden eyes twinkling merrily.

“Yes!! So you owe me...” Pisti took a moment to think, counting out loud on her fingers. “Let’s see... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... 16 beers!” she crowed triumphantly, her hands on her hips.

‘Sin’ frowned.

“Pisti, I was joking. You’re not old enough to drink yet.”

“I am in Mexico!” she pouted, crossing her arms.

“Yes, but we’re not in Mexico.”

The man thought for a moment and sighed, smiling amusedly at her. “Ok fine, but don’t tell your mother. I’ll bring over a few six-packs after the next gig.”

“Yes!!” she whooped, pumping her fist into the air, before once again quickly running off to help a customer.

“So, who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Sin asked, nearly blinding Ja’far with a charming, giga-watt smile.

“Uh... My name is Ja’far. What’s going on?” the shorter man asked cautiously, raising one eyebrow.

“Ja’far, huh?” the man mused. “I like it. You won’t need to come up with a stage name if your real one is that unusual.”

“What’s going on?” Ja’far repeated, his tone as chilly as his ice-gray eyes. He snatched his hands back and crossed his arms.

The man opposite him looked a little taken aback, but recovered quickly.

“My name is Sinbad,” he said smoothly. “It’s nice to meet you, Ja’far. I’m with the Seven Seas Alliance and it just so happens, we’re short a bassist. Would you like to play with us?”

“Seven Seas Alliance...?”

“Yeah, we’re a local band. You might have heard of us.”

“Nope.”

From the look Sinbad was giving him, Ja’far might as well have struck him over the head.

“You don’t...? You’ve never?”

“Nope,” Ja’far deadpanned, expressionless. “But I get it. You’re looking for a bassist. So which one of those posters is yours?”

“Posters?”

Had this man actually hit his head somewhere? It would explain the confused look.

“Yeah. Are you one of the guys wall-papering the town with those things?”

Sinbad blinked, understanding finally registering on his face. His mouth opened and closed for a minute as he struggled for words.

“Um, how do I put this...” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “We don’t need to advertise.”

Ja’far’s eyes widened. Taking the shorter man’s expression for consideration, Sinbad continued, encouraged.

“So will you join us? Here, let me give you my card—”

“Shit. That’s my bus!”

The white-haired man had spotted his ride home in the large mirror above Sinbad’s head and hastily yanked the guitar strap over his head, pushing it towards Sinbad with enough force to knock the wind from the other man. Before Sinbad knew it, his would-be bassist had grabbed his belongings and was running for the sliding glass doors.

“Wait!”

Sinbad’s fingers caught the edge of Ja’far’s sleeve, accidentally tugging the rough fabric up his arm. To his surprise, the shorter man suddenly panicked.

“Let go of me!”

Ja’far quickly yanked his arm from Sinbad’s grasp but not before he saw those golden eyes widen with shock as they took in the mottled scars criss-crossing their way up the shorter man’s arms, marks like those left by the embrace of the thinnest snake. 

“Ja’far...”

“I have to go,” Ja’far snapped, tugging his sleeve back down. He could not bear to watch Sinbad’s face contort with pity, just as so many others had before him, as he left.

“Ja’far!!”

Refusing to look back or stay to explain, Ja’far turned tail and ran out the door to catch his bus.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wait!! Please wait!” he yelled, but the bus had already gone.

Coughing and swearing as he swallowed the dust from the departing vehicle, Ja’far kicked the nearest telephone pole in frustration. God damn it! Now how was he supposed to go home?!

“Hmm, I thought it was you.”

Ja’far spun around to see that a man had appeared from seemingly nowhere. He was tall, with red hair that fell nearly to his shoulders and a tiny red goatee. He wore a very long jacket and a confident smirk.

“What?”

“The one playing the bass,” the tall man continued, “That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was.”

Ja’far didn’t like the way this man was looking at him. His gaze was more than just scrutinizing, it was borderline predatory. He tightened his grip on his bag as the man, hands tucked casually into his pockets, approached him.

“You’re pretty good. How long have you been playing?”

“A while,” the shorter man admitted. He paused, then added, “I don’t really play anymore.”

“You don’t?” the redhead asked, sounding surprised. “What a shame. We could use a guy like you.”

He walked closer. Ja’far resisted the urge to take a step back as the man, now close enough to reach out and pat his shoulder, finally stopped.

“We?” Ja’far repeated, his tone questioning.

“Yeah, the band I lead. I’m Ren Kouen of World on Fire. We’re still holding tryouts for new members. Are you interested?”

“Not really,” Ja’far replied. He was more interested in getting home right now.

“You don’t sound too out of practice. How about dropping by for a jam session next Saturday?” Kouen asked, completely ignoring Ja’far’s statement and presenting him with a business card.

“I said—” Ja’far started, his voice raised.

“Ja’far!”

Without warning, an arm descended around his shoulders and steered him away from Kouen.

“There you are,” Sinbad laughed, walking him away from the bus stop. “I saw you chasing after the bus and I felt bad for making you miss it, so I went around back for my car. I’ll give you a ride home, okay? Consider it my apology for earlier.”

Ja’far tried not to squirm under Sinbad’s arm. It was heavy and muscular, but not entirely uncomfortable. He didn’t like being guided like a child, but when he thought about it, he’d rather hitch a ride home with Sinbad than wait at the bus stop with Kouen.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, throwing Sinbad’s arm off and following him to the car. He could feel Kouen’s eyes on him as he walked away. Hesitantly, he sneaked a look back. Kouen was still standing at the bus stop, and Ja’far caught a bemused smirk on his face as he turned around and headed in the opposite direction.

“Here it is,” Sinbad declared, unlocking the doors to a slightly beat-up dark blue compact. “Where should I drop you off?”

Ja’far thought for a moment. Out of habit, he made a point of never letting strangers find out where he lived but it was getting late and he’d rather not walk home past *that* neighborhood after dark. There were some... unsavory characters he didn’t want to run into over there.

“I’ll direct you,” he said at last, buckling himself in. “First, drive down this way to Main Street, then make a left.”

Sinbad nodded, started the car and they were off.

“So I saw you talking to Kouen at the bus stop,” he said. His tone was casual but Ja’far could hear the trace of curiosity in his voice. “Did he ask you to join his band?”

Ja’far chuckled.

“You worried I’ll join his band instead of yours?”

Sinbad scoffed quietly.

“You’re too good for those pricks.”

“Thank you, but you didn’t answer my question. Are you worried?”

He leaned back against his seat, watching the dark-haired man with a pleasant smile on his face. Finally, Sinbad sighed and laughed.

“Not much gets past you, does it, Ja’far?”

“It’s not that,” Ja’far answered. “You’re just too easy to read.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he added, when the driver turned to give him a look. “Turn right after that stop sign. Wait a minute... SHIT!!”

Sinbad returned his attention to the road just as Ja’far ducked down and threw his jacket over his head, obscuring his shock of white hair from the three figures who had materialized in the gloom at the stop sign. Ja’far remained bent over, hidden from the prying eyes of the three as they slowly rolled to a stop. He didn’t dare breathe until the car started moving again and only popped back up after they’d driven a good distance away. Slowly, he turned towards the driver, who had remained quiet throughout the entire thing.

“So, where to next?” Sinbad asked, grinning cheerfully at Ja’far as if nothing unusual had happened.

“...Another left at the second stop light and it’s the fourth house on the right.”

“Okay!”

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the light.

“I don’t care, you know,” Sinbad said.

“Huh?”

“I’m not going to ask you about your past, if that’s what you’re wondering,” the man next to Ja’far elaborated. “I don’t care who you are or where you came from. None of that matters, really. What’s important to me is that you’re an amazing musician and I’d like you to join my band.”

He pulled the car to a stop outside Ja’far’s apartment complex.

“You can tell me about all that if you feel like it. And if you never feel like it, I’m fine with that too.”

“Right... Well, thanks again,” Ja’far said, getting out of the car.

“No problem.”

He slammed the door shut, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet and he noticed that Sinbad had left the car in neutral as well.

“You know,” Ja’far mused aloud, crossing his arms and giving Sinbad a side-long glance. “One of Kouen’s posters hit me in the face today.”

“Oh?” Sinbad asked, rolling down the passenger window.

“Yeah. I threw it in the trash.”

The white-haired man stretched out his open palm and smiled.

“Not that I’ve made my decision just yet, but it seems like there are better offers on the table.”

Sinbad blinked, surprised, and then his face broke into an open grin.

“Next practice isn’t until Saturday afternoon,” he said, placing his card in Ja’far’s outstretched hand. “But we’re going out for dinner and drinks Friday evening. You should join us.”

Ja’far wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t really drink, but I’ll join you for dinner.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up Friday at seven.”

“Thanks. See you then.”

It was only when Ja’far watched Sinbad pull away, card in hand, that he realized it sounded like a date.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late, guys! The story is changing itself on me and I'm trying to figure it out. Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint, but things will definitely pick up next chap.

Perhaps he’d made a mistake, Ja’far thought to himself as he pushed the button for the ground floor. The doors swiftly slid shut in front of him, leaving him alone in the elevator of his office building with no one for company, save his reflection in the gleaming metal doors. He sighed, wondering where the week had gone. How was it Friday already? 

Before going to bed last night, Ja’far realized that he still hadn’t managed to so much as text Sinbad his number. He’d picked up his phone, about to dial the number on the card when he was struck with a sudden feeling of panic. There was a reason he’d decided to stop playing... But calling Sinbad at this hour just to tell him that he’d changed his mind would make him an unreliable person. And if there was one thing Ja’far was not, it was unreliable. In the end, he’d never pushed that final “call” button and the number vanished from the screen without a trace.

He leaned back against the wall, eyeing the ceiling where a mesh grid was subtly tucked into the ceiling and disguised as another tile. An old rock classic converted into elevator music started playing. Ja’far tightened his grip on his bag and scowled heavily. He knew that these kinds of alterations were inevitable but it still never ceased to annoy him. To him, the song, once a call to arms for rebellious youth and fiery adults alike, had been damaged, its edge dulled like the blade of a knife that had been overused and mistreated. Taking a song like that and doing this to it was like taking the spines off a pufferfish, leaving it something dull and slow and ordinary and far too easy to consume. Shaking his head with disgust, he fumbled in his bag for his earbuds and phone. He may as well text Sinbad back while he was at it.

Just as his fingers brushed against the glass surface, the elevator stopped and the doors opened with a crisp “ding.” Surprised, he looked up. But he wasn’t at the lobby yet. Instead, the last person he wanted to see stepped into the elevator, wearing a pair of very polished shoes: Ren Kouen.

The man’s brown eyes widened as he walked in, his hand still on his half-adjusted tie. For a moment, neither of them spoke; they just stared at one another, Ja’far’s expression becoming more guarded to the point of almost looking hostile as the seconds ticked by. However, it didn’t take long for Kouen to regain his composure. He smiled courteously and pressed the button for the lower garage and the doors closed once again, trapping Ja’far in the elevator with him. One by one, the yellow floors lit up in the silence. The shorter man was beginning to think that his companion had forgotten their previous encounter when Kouen cleared his throat.

“So we meet again, Mr. Bassist.”

He turned and Ja’far was forced to put away his earbuds. Damned social cues.

“I didn’t know you worked in this building,” Ja’far said, his sentence not quite ending as a question.

“You stole the words right out of my mouth,” Kouen responded. “It’s a strange building, isn’t it? It’s one of the few in this city that is home to so many different companies. I suppose I should count myself lucky that I work here. Otherwise, what would be the chances of running into you again?”

“Slim to none, I’m afraid,” Ja’far mumbled under his breath.

“What was your name again?” Kouen asked, edging slightly closer.

“Ja’far.”

“Ja’far. You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot last time and I’m sorry if I was a little overbearing. If you’re not busy later, how about I buy you a drink, as an apology?”

The white-haired man scrutinized Kouen, his mouth set into a firm line.

“...you want to buy me a drink?”

“Well, you’re very talented,” the taller man said simply. “And even if you don’t want to join us, I’d like to get to know you better. It seems you have a very interesting story to tell. And like I said, I want to apologize for last time.”

“Well, I don’t really drink,” Ja’far said slowly, “But I accept your apology. Thank you, Kouen.”

For now, that seemed to be enough. Kouen nodded and they stood there, waiting for the elevator to take them to their floors. As the background music switched to a different song, Ja’far saw a distinct frown appearing on the band leader’s face. Catching the shorter man’s eye on him, he coughed and looked away.

“Sorry. I like this song but I don’t like what they did to it,” he explained, gesturing to the speakers.

Ja’far smiled warmly. At first glance, Ren Kouen came off as a little intense, but maybe he wasn’t so bad.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

At his words, Kouen’s eyes widened slightly and he slowly turned to Ja’far, a curious look on his face and the faintest hint of pink coloring the tips of his ears. 

“So,” the redhead started, “Are you busy this—”

Just then, Ja’far’s phone rang, cutting him off.

“Excuse me,” he whispered politely, picking up his cell. “Hello?”

“Hey, Ja’far. You called?” The voice on the other end of the line was Sinbad’s. Ja’far’s mouth dropped open.

“Sinbad? What?”

“Yeah, sorry I missed your call earlier. I was in a meeting. So what’s up?”

Missed his call? The former bassist removed his phone from his ear to check the call log and immediately flushed. When he’d reached for his phone earlier, he’d accidentally pressed “dial.”

“Ja’far?” Sinbad’s voice called out from the speaker. “Ja’far, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” the white-haired man answered, clutching his face in embarrassment. “I can hear you.”

“Oh okay. Great. So am I still picking you up at seven?”

“Yeah.”

In his hurry to finish the conversation as fast as possible, he’d said that without thinking. Ja’far clapped his hand over his mouth but it was too late.

“Alright, can you text me your address then? I don’t really remember the route,” Sinbad laughed.

“Sure,” Ja’far mumbled, realizing he really couldn’t back out now. “See you later.”

“Alright, later!”

His face was probably as red as Kouen’s hair by now. He could practically feel the taller man’s eyes on him as he punched in the address. 

“So I take it you’re getting dinner with the Seven Seas Alliance?”

Ja’far turned to give him what he hoped was an apologetic look.

“Yeah...”

Kouen frowned slightly.

“Are you joining them?”

“Uh...”

Kouen laughed.

“I’ll admit it—they’re good. But we’re better.”

Something about the way he said that sent chills up Ja’far’s spine... and he wasn’t sure he disliked the feeling.

“We’re going to win the Battle of the Bands and get that record deal,” Kouen continued confidently. “If you want to make it big, you’ll join us. Not to speak ill of them but they can be a bit... disorganized.”

Ja’far studied him. What did he mean by that?

“But you don’t have to take my word for it. I believe the Alliance has invited you to a jam session after dinner?”

How did he know that? Ja’far thought uneasily. But he nodded anyway and Kouen chuckled.

“Come to the Battle. You’ll see. And if you ever want to reconsider, my offer still stands.”

Ding. They were in the lobby at last.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Ja’far. Until next time.”

Ja’far turned around just in time to see Kouen’s self-assured smile disappear behind the sliding metal doors.

***

He shouldn’t have let Kouen’s words get to him but something about his rather cryptic tone stuck with Ja’far for the rest of the evening. He was still thinking about their encounter when the phone on his desk buzzed loudly, startling him into dropping the jacket he had been considering. Scooping it off of the faded carpet, he made his way to the table and picked up the cell.

“I’m here,” the text read simply.

He turned off the brightly glowing screen and made his way to the window, pulling back the curtains as he pocketed the phone. Off in the distance, the city stirred to life against a backdrop of a deep blue gradient. One by one, the lights switched on in the blackened cardboard cutouts of the downtown office buildings, winking at him like so many tiny yellow eyes as darkness fell. Then all at once, like a set of weakened spotlights, the streetlights in front of his building lit up, illuminating a small blue car that had just pulled up by the sidewalk below. As he watched, the window on the driver’s side rolled down and a man with long dark hair popped his head out and looked up. Spotting the white-haired man in the window, he waved cheerfully. Ja’far sucked in a breath; the night wind felt cool against his subtly burning cheeks. Even in the dim lighting, Sinbad’s smile was dazzling. Any girl would have thought herself lucky to be picked up like this, Ja’far mused. He smiled and waved back, his worries dissipating like smoke on the wind.

He had a good feeling about tonight. Kouen was probably just trying to dissuade him because he didn’t want Ja’far to join Sinbad’s band. His heart beating unusually fast in his chest, he grabbed his scarf and departed. Unfortunately, when they arrived at the restaurant, he began to understand all too well what Kouen meant when he’d called the Seven Seas Alliance “disorganized.”


	4. Chapter 4

At first, everything seemed pretty normal. Looking around as they stepped through the arched doorway, Ja’far nodded approvingly. The décor was vaguely Moroccan and the restaurant was a pleasant mix of trendy but casual. In a way, this was comforting because this place reminded him of his favorite haunts during the years he spent studying abroad. Truthfully, he hadn’t been that nervous about meeting the other band members, but when Sinbad told him there were seven people besides him coming to dinner, Ja’far’s image of a small quiet affair was shattered and the doubt he’d had earlier began to creep back up on him again. If Sinbad had been just a little easier to say “no” to, Ja’far would be at home, curled up on his couch with a good book and some hot tea right now. As the two approached the hostess’s table, a burly man dressed in a shocking pink dress waved to them from across the room.

“Mr. Sinbad!”

Ja’far stopped in his tracks. That was definitely a woman’s voice, and a very feminine one at that.

“I see you brought a new friend today,” he—no, she, Ja’far mentally corrected himself, said as she sashayed over.

“Good evening, Elizabeth,” Sinbad said smoothly, “You’re looking as lovely as ever.”

“Oh you,” she tittered girlishly as Ja’far sternly reminded himself not to stare. “Your friends are in the back. I’ll bring you all a round of beer as soon as you’re all settled in.”

They thanked her and moved on, Ja’far trying not to think about the fact that she was much larger than he was, not that that was saying much... When they reached the back table, a young man in ripped white jeans and a faded green T-shirt immediately stood up and hoisted a bottle into the air. His hair, which was as white as Ja’far’s, was styled in a sort of half-mullet, with a thin ponytail hanging from one side and a black leather jacket lay draped on the chair behind him. This rough-looking youngster and the rather strange collection of people sitting with him had to be Sinbad’s band.

“Sin, you’re finally here!” he exclaimed, his yellow-green eyes shining. “Now we can drink!”

Next to him, a pretty woman with long blue hair scoffed disapprovingly. The man immediately rounded on her, the long chains hanging from his ear clinking and swaying.

“Hey, don’t give me that, Yamu,” he snapped. “You’re drinking too!”

At his words, the woman turned pink and scowled, putting her beer down with a hollow clunk—the bottle had been mostly emptied.

“I only did it so you wouldn’t look bad, you idiot.”

“Idiot?!”

“Hi Sharrkan, hi Yamuraiha,” Sinbad greeted as he hugged them. He must have known that they were still staring daggers at each other over his shoulder because he pushed both of them towards Ja’far and grinned broadly. “This is Ja’far. He’s the bassist I was talking to you about.”

“Hey, Ja’far!” the blond girl Ja’far immediately recognized as Pisti piped up. She was still wearing the red feathered earrings and a matching red band in her braided hair. However, she had swapped her store employee clothes for a cute pink blouse and jean-shorts. “Good to see you again!”

“Nice to see you too, Pisti,” he said, smiling.

“Oh, you’re Ja’far?” Yamuraiha asked, shaking his hand. Ja’far nodded, half wondering if she knew her rather generous cleavage was threatening to pop out of the small pink band she wore under her canvas jacket at a moment’s notice.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” an enormous man with a long blue ponytail said, crushing Ja’far’s fingers in the strongest handshake the man had ever experienced. “I’m Hinahoho and this is Drakon, Masrur and Spartos.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Masrur was a tall, muscular man with short red hair and a single silver stud beneath his lower lip. He nodded politely and spoke in a low voice as he introduced himself as the band’s drummer. Drakon appeared to be around the same age as Sinbad, but unlike the charismatic band leader, he seemed much more serious and professional, having just come in from work. He did, however, have long green hair and wore a large earring with conspicuous red jewel on his left ear. The band’s current bassist, Spartos, was quiet and wore a simple dress shirt and tie; his long dark red bangs covered his left eye. 

“I’m really just covering the position because Sin asked me to,” Spartos admitted. “It’s fun but I do need to graduate and get a more stable job for now. I’m more of a classics kind of guy, anyway.”

“Classical music is great, isn’t it?” Yamuraiha cut in excitedly. “Spartos, you should come to the museum with me next week. They’re bringing in the *actual* piano that Schumann composed on for the exhibit! Please say yes!”

“Ugh. You classics geek,” Sharrkan snickered. “This is why you can’t get a boyfriend. No one wants to go see that on a date.”

She whirled on him, her nostrils flaring.

“Nobody asked you, idiot! Just because a stupid fanboy like you could never appreciate the finer arts—”

“Hey!! I’ll have you know metal is a fine art. It’s amazing. Unlike your face.”

“You wanna start something?”

“Bring it, you dateless geek!!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hinahoho laughed, prying them apart. They looked up from pulling on each other’s faces in time to hear him say, “We’re trying to make a good impression on Ja’far, remember?”

“Yeah,” Pisti added after gulping down some beer, “You can flirt after practice.”

“Pisti, you’re not supposed to be drinking,” Spartos chided.

“But I don’t even play an instrument. What’s the big deal?”

As the band members continued to squabble in the background, Ja’far turned to Masrur and Drakon, the only seemingly normal people he’d met all evening, with a hesitant glance.

“Are they always like this?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Masrur replied, taking a sip of his own beer. “You get used to it.”

Astonished by the drummer’s nonchalance, Ja’far peered over the man’s broad shoulders, hoping to spot Sinbad and bring his fellow musicians’ behavior to his attention. Surely the band leader would step in to stop this kind of nonsense? They were starting to attract the attention of the other restaurant patrons and it now made perfect sense to Ja’far why Elizabeth would seat them in the back. 

Unfortunately, Sinbad was no longer at their table—Ja’far finally spotted him at the bar, leaning casually against the counter whilst chatting up a cute girl in a short skirt. As the dark-haired man let out a pleasant laugh, something inside Ja’far snapped.

“Excuse me for a minute,” the freckled man said politely, standing.

The next thing Sinbad knew, there was a very angry bassist dragging him away from the bar by the pierced ear, back to his table where a hush had quickly fallen over the members as Ja’far all but threw the taller man back into his seat.

“Really?” he huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at Sinbad. “Your band starts to cause a scene in public and you run off to flirt? You’re the band leader! You’re supposed to have things under control.”

“They are under control! Elizabeth put us in the back.”

“You call that under control?”

Ja’far was not speaking very loudly, but each of the band members could hear every word he said. He waited for an answer, but none came; the musicians could only stare, dumbfounded and unable to react to Ja’far’s quiet rage. Finally, he sighed and sat back down.

“No wonder Kouen called you ‘disorganized.’”

At once, Sinbad and his band exchanged a panicked glance.

“You met with Kouen?” 

“What did that bastard have to say about us?”

“Calm down. He just happens to work in my office building and he said you were disorganized,” Ja’far replied. “Oh, but he did admit you were good... I’m still interested in seeing your practice session, so let’s finish dinner for now, okay?”

Thankfully, the rest of dinner passed in relative quiet. Whether out of determination to prove Kouen wrong or to prevent Ja’far from getting even more irritated, the musicians enjoyed the most peaceful meal any of them could remember participating in. Even Sharrkan and Yamuraiha managed to stop bickering, a feat that Sinbad found nothing short of staggering. When Drakon, now uncomfortable with the silence, began talking to them about the similarities between classical music and metal, they could only stare at him and listen politely as they tried to take in what he said. Sinbad grinned. Not only was Ja’far an excellent bassist, he also seemed to possess the uncanny ability to manage the bandmates’ unruly behavior. Ja’far may be even more perfect than he had hoped.

Unsurprisingly, it was a subdued group that arrived at the small studio on Fifth Street. As Hinahoho unlocked the door to the band’s usual practice room, the others would occasionally glance back at Ja’far, shifting their instruments uncomfortably in their arms. The freckled man sighed as a nervous Sharrkan turned his head to give him another over-the-shoulder. They were acting like a bunch of scolded children. When everyone had finally filed in, he cleared his throat and tried to put what he hoped was a forgiving smile on his face.

“You know, I did hear a lot of good things about you guys. Let’s just forget about what happened earlier and have a good practice session, okay?”

He knew he’d chosen the right words when Pisti instantly brightened up.

“You heard the man, let’s get to it!” she cried, throwing her arms into the air. Unfortunately, in her excitement she accidentally knocked her fist into Sinbad’s electric guitar just as Drakon was plugging it in. A loud discordant noise immediately swept through the room, making the hairs on Ja’far’s neck stand on end.

“Careful, Pisti.” Sinbad cautioned, taking a step away from the excited teenager and tuning his guitar. Ja’far couldn’t help noticing that the instrument, a beautifully gilded red and black rounded Gibson with a lovely golden eight-pointed star design carved onto its body, was just as handsome as its owner. 

“With all those rings on your fingers, you’ll scratch Focalor!”

Surprised, Ja’far gave a small start. Tugging at Masrur’s shirt as the man went to fetch his drumsticks, he whispered, “...That’s what he named his guitar?”

The redhead nodded and Ja’far tried his best not to make a face. Given the overall impression Sinbad had left on him, the bassist had fully expected a band leader as attractive and charming as him to choose the sexiest-sounding female name that held any significance for him. A former lover, perhaps. Why pick one of Solomon’s Demons? The question was instantly answered when Sinbad finished tuning the guitar at last and played an unusual chord to test it. The mere vibrations echoing throughout the room made Ja’far shudder—something about this instrument once placed in Sinbad’s hands was deliciously intense. No wonder he didn’t go for a normal human name. As the other band members finished testing their own instruments and got into position, Ja’far took a seat next to Hinahoho, Pisti and Drakon by the far wall.

“You don’t play?” Ja’far asked, astonished. Hinahoho and Drakon certainly looked the part.

“Oh, well we used to back when we were in college with Sin,” Hinahoho answered. “But now that I have my five kids to take care of...”

“He and Rurumu have their hands full. We feel that we’re getting a bit old for this,” Drakon added.

When Ja’far turned to look at Pisti, she grinned.

“I’m still learning how to play acoustic guitar, so I’m mostly here to learn and to sing backup whenever Yamu has the lead vocals.”

The four sat and listened as Sinbad ran them through a new song that he and Sharrkan had come up with a week ago. Sinbad had to be the lead vocalist, Ja’far realized. Not only was his voice commanding, it was also smooth and somewhat deep. The bassist would bet his left kidney that if Sinbad sang, the women were sure to swoon. But Sinbad didn’t sing tonight. After about half an hour of running through the song, the Alliance had pretty much gotten it down. In spite of himself, Ja’far smiled. Kouen was right; they were talented. Just then, Sinbad turned, and catching Ja’far’s smile, he grinned and confidently strode up to him.

“So, what do you think?”

“You’ve got a good group here,” Ja’far replied honestly. “You sound great together and I like the piano transitions Yamuraiha plays. It’s a good song.”

“But?” Sinbad asked, raising a thick eyebrow and causing Ja’far to chuckle. Of course there was a “but” coming. The band leader wasn’t as cocky as he looked.

“I realize this is one of your first run-throughs of this song, so I’ll try not to be too picky. Sharrkan, you’re a little messy on the solo. I like the improvisation but you could stand to clean it up a little, you know? And Spartos, you start off fine but then you speed up bit by bit. It’s a little too fast at the end. Masrur’s rhythm is near-perfect, so I’d try listening to him more.”

“What about me?”

Sinbad’s smile was a little too bright and Ja’far thought he caught a mischievous glint in the taller man’s eye. However, his answer had been ready a long time ago.

“You’re sneaking in an extra note once in a while during the bridge, blending it with whatever Sharrkan plays,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re testing me, aren’t you?”

That annoying smile didn’t waver for even a moment as Pisti let out a low whistle behind them. Impressed, Sharrkan clapped a little.

“Woah, I didn’t even notice,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“Not bad at all,” Sinbad whispered. “Hey, Spartos, come here a second.”

As if reading the older man’s mind, the quiet bassist removed the band from over his head and presented his guitar to Ja’far with a polite smile.

“Trade places with me for one run-through?” he asked. “I want to hear you play.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty points to whoever correctly guesses the identity of the owner of the Warehouse! :D

“Pisti said you were great,” Spartos continued. “She said the entire store applauded when you tried out that bass in the window. I think I speak for those of us who haven’t heard you play yet when I say I’m really curious.”

“Come on, Ja’far,” Sharrkan and Pisti chorused. “Please?”

“Just one quick jam session?” Sinbad suggested, placing a hand on Ja’far’s shoulder. “You don’t have to come out of retirement today, but...”

He gestured towards Spartos’s offered bass, a roguish smile tugging at his lips.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint the kids, would you?”

Ja’far thought for a minute. He did say he never wanted to play again and he’d never officially agreed to joining the band. But it was getting really hard to hold out against Pisti’s puppy-dog eyes. Additionally, Sinbad had insisted on paying for his dinner. As the other band members turned to him expectantly, he found himself wavering. Instinctively, his eyes swept the room for loose wires or anything flammable and found nothing. Maybe there really wasn’t any harm in it. Hesitantly, Ja’far took hold of the instrument.

This should be simple enough, he thought to himself as he took Spartos’s spot, on Sinbad’s left. Spartos’s bass, an old teal Yamaha with white trim, felt comfortable in his hands, although not as perfect as the one in the display in the music store. Something about that other guitar just felt like it had been made for him. He strummed once to get a better feel and smiled as the vibrations from the chord ran through his arm. Yes, this would do nicely.

“I’ll start,” Sinbad declared.

The speed at which he started out wasn’t fast, but it wasn’t slow either. His fingers moving rapidly across Focalor’s neck, he shot Ja’far a cocky smirk. Raising an eyebrow, white-haired man met the band leader’s confident glance with one of his own. Sinbad was challenging him. Ja’far immediately began to play, matching Sinbad note for note; each time the taller man changed a chord, Ja’far quickly adjusted, as if reading the man’s mind, following right on his heels with the same progression as the others cheered. He watched as the grin on Sinbad’s face grew wider and wider and he couldn’t help grinning back. He easily sailed through the transitions and matched Sinbad’s solo with a quick one of his own. Energy flowed through him and he could feel that old flame burning through him again just as it had on the day he’d first met Pisti and Sinbad. He played with such passion and he couldn’t deny the joy the music brought him any longer. They finished strong and the others rushed in to clap him on the back, to compliment him; there had been barely enough room for any of them to even jump in.

“That was amazing!” Sharrkan exclaimed, “You guys left us all in the dust!”

“It was like you were reading his mind or something!” Yamuraiha cried, her blue eyes wide.

“How do you manage to play so well even with such long sleeves?” Spartos asked.

Ja’far looked down at himself and realized with a small start that he’d never taken off his jacket. No wonder it felt so hot. He even still had his scarf on. Impulsively, he ripped off his scarf and reached for his jacket, only to realize that if he took that off, they’d see the scars.

“I manage,” he mumbled, removing the guitar strap from around his neck.

“Maybe you should just take off the jacket?” Yamuraiha suggested, “You’re sweating...”

“I’ll be fine.” 

Unfortunately, as he handed the bass back to Spartos, the large button at the end of his sleeve got caught on the strap. Before he could do anything about it, the loose fabric had been pulled up, bunching up around his elbow, revealing the scars to everyone around him. For a moment, no one spoke. The other band members looked at each other, the questions in their eyes all too obvious to Ja’far. Thankfully, before anyone could open their mouth to ask, Sinbad clapped his hands suddenly. The others quickly turned their attention to him, allowing Ja’far to discreetly tug his jacket sleeve back down.

“Guys, it’s getting late and we’ve only run through one song. We have a gig coming up and we need to go through the others. Let’s play ‘Continents’ next okay?”

“Okay!”

As the band began to play again, Hinahoho turned to Pisti and requested help getting something from the mini-van. They left, leaving Ja’far with Drakon, who merely continued to act as if nothing unusual had happened at all. The rest of the session went well, and at half an hour past midnight, Sinbad decided they should call it a night. He immediately unplugged his guitar and, yawning loudly, approached Ja’far before anyone else could.

“God, why am I so sleepy?” he groaned, throwing his arm around the white-haired man’s shoulder and steering him towards the door. “Maybe I drank too much earlier.”

Sharrkan snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“We’ll take care of things here,” Hinahoho insisted. “Sinbad, Ja’far, you guys go on ahead.”

“Come back next time too!” Yamuraiha called, waving good-bye to the two.

But as Ja’far left, he distinctly heard someone whisper, “So what do you think? The scars have something to do with why he quit?”

“Shh! Stop that.”

Sinbad must have heard it too, because he suddenly grabbed Ja’far’s hand and led him to the car as quickly as possible. He didn’t speak until they were both buckled in with the engine started.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he said. “I’ll have a talk with them later.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it. Also, thanks for covering for me earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

As they drove, Ja’far found himself thinking about the jam session. He hadn’t been in one of those in years and he’d forgotten how good it felt to play music with a group. And what a group. Sure, they were a little eccentric, but more often than not, true artists tended to be that way. The Seven Seas Alliance was a talented bunch and he could see why they didn’t need to advertise. As a group, they had an excellent stage presence, and moreover, their particular brand of rock music, not too much pop but not too much punk either, could definitely take them somewhere. He still had his doubts about coming out of retirement, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see a bit more of them before he made his final decision.

“So when’s your gig?” he asked, casually leaning his elbow against the door.

“In a couple of weeks. We’re playing at the Warehouse downtown.”

Surprised, Ja’far fixed him with a questioning glance. The Warehouse was a large abandoned building downtown, located a few streets away from the local bar scene. It had originally been built as a storage facility for a shipping company but the company went bankrupt around fifteen years ago, leaving this large structure behind as the only reminder of its existence. The outside of the building was covered in so much graffiti and street art that to try to unearth the name and logo of the company, one would have to scrape through years of spray paint in order to find it. Ja’far sometimes liked to imagine that if the archeologists of the future wanted to study the changing times in their town, they had only to peel back the layers to get an idea. These days, however, the Warehouse was used as a makeshift concert events venue for local events. The bassist hadn’t realized that the local events included indie or rock concerts but when he thought about it, it made perfect sense.

“Do you do this often?”

Sinbad inclined his head a little in a modest half-shrug but Ja’far could tell that he was beaming.

“Not quite.”

“Oh? You look excited.”

“You’re kind of new to the music scene in this town, right?” Sinbad asked. When his passenger nodded, he continued in a rush. “See, the Warehouse is where the best bands in town have their concerts. Normally, it takes years and connections to get in but we finally got good enough that we got an invite directly from the manager himself.”

“Manager?” Ja’far parroted. Somebody actually ran that dump?

“Yeah! She’s really picky about who gets to play and who doesn’t and I can’t blame her. The concerts and events are pretty much the only reason the place hasn’t been mowed down for big business yet.”

“I see.”

They spent the rest of the car trip discussing the event sponsors and the overall plan Sinbad had for the concert. He was thinking of showcasing the new song that they’d practiced tonight along with a ballad he had written years ago. Apparently, it was the one that first got them noticed in their community. His excitement was contagious. Ja’far found himself so caught up in the conversation that this time he completely forgot to look out the window or duck when they came to the stop sign near his apartment. Only after Sinbad had dropped him off and he was safe at home in his bed did the bassist remember his mistake. Quietly, he got up and went to the closet, where he rummaged through the bottom of his drawer until he found what he was looking for: an unusual set of blades fixed to thick wires. Wrapping the free ends of the wires around his hands, he placed the weapons under his pillow and fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so late guys! I had a few assignments and exams this week and I had to put the fic on hold for a bit. Plus I'm running out of inspiration... but the tough part should be over and the interesting bits of the story will be here in the next chapter or so. Thanks for sticking with me for so long! Your comments and kudos were very much appreciated--you're all awesome! ; w ;

He woke with a start at the sound of his alarm the next morning, abruptly yanked back by an all-too-familiar weight pulling on his hands. Ah, that’s right. The meteor blades were still under his pillow. Cursing, Ja’far disentangled himself and sat up, throwing his covers over the knives in disgust; they were the last thing he wanted to look at right now. Unfortunately, he could still see the damned things glinting beneath the edges of the worn fabric and he scowled heavily as he reached for them, determined to throw them back in the closet where they belonged.

How could he have forgotten about that particular stop sign last night? Especially when they had been spotted in the neighborhood so recently? He was having such a good time talking music with Sinbad that it had completely slipped his mind to hide his distinctive hair and facial features from anyone who might have been watching the vehicle from outside. But then again, they had taken the other route away from his apartment when they were heading to the restaurant. No wonder he forgot.

Ja’far let out a sigh and tugged on the wires. He froze and slowly looked down at his arms, which he had subconsciously begun wrapping the wires around. They circled his forearms in thin red lines, just as they had more than a decade ago before the scars were present. Now, they lay on top of the thicker, heavier lines of his scars, perfectly aligned in the center of the raised skin, giving the grotesque impression that his scars had split open and were bleeding anew. Disgusted, he unwrapped them as quickly as possible and threw them forcefully back into the box from whence they came.

“Ouch!”

In his haste to get rid of them, he’d cut himself on the blades. He swore loudly and brought his finger to his lips, sucking at the wound and wincing at the pain it brought him when his neatly sliced skin met with saliva. He carefully made his way to the alarm, which was still buzzing, and turned it off with a sigh. It was Saturday and he didn’t have work. Maybe he could go back to bed? Just then, his phone buzzed. Curious as to who would text him so early in the morning, he picked it up with his uninjured hand to see five new messages. He opened the most recently sent one.

“Hello Ja’far, it’s Spartos. It was wonderful meeting you last night. I hope to have a practice session with you again soon. Perhaps you could give me some pointers?”

So formal... He saved it and moved on to the next set, sent less than an hour after Sinbad had dropped him off at home.

“Hi Ja’far, it’s Yamuraiha! I just wanted to say that I had a great time tonight. Thank you for meeting with us. ...and that I’m sorry for causing a ruckus at the bar. Let’s play music together again soon! :)”

He scrolled down to see a more recent one from the blue-haired keyboardist.

“Also, please forgive Sharrkan too. I’m guessing that idiot didn’t have the balls to text it to you himself, so I’m doing it for him. Don’t tell him tho!”

His phone beeped again as he read, bringing him more messages from members of the Seven Seas Alliance, asking if or when he would be back or telling him they had fun yesterday. As Ja’far scrolled through them one by one, a smile slowly grew on his face. They were a weird bunch for sure but there was something very endearing about each of them, even Sharrkan, who came off as a little brash. As he slid his phone into his pocket, he made a mental note to get more details about their next gig. It should prove to be an interesting affair. 

However, there was no message from Sinbad. As he went into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast, he realized that strange empty feeling in his chest was disappointment.

***

With no other plans for the day, Ja’far decided to head back downtown, this time to the library. He’d finished the book he bought in no time at all and wanted some more reading material to go with his afternoon tea. As he stepped off the bus, he thought he saw someone waving to him from far away. A very tall someone with red hair and a small goatee. Ren Kouen?

“You’re up rather early,” the band leader said, raising an eyebrow in surprise as Ja’far approached.

“Forgot to turn off my alarm,” the shorter man admitted with a frown. “Why do you look so surprised?”

Kouen’s brown eyes darted away for the briefest of moments before he smiled and replied, “I thought you might have gone to get drinks with the Seven Seas Alliance after dinner last night... So I wasn’t expecting you to be up until past noon.”

Ja’far shot him a look. He wouldn’t have put it past the band members to do so, but something about Kouen’s tone irked him.

“They may be a little strange but they’re very nice people. Very talented too.”

“Oh, they most certainly are,” Kouen replied, “There’s no need to get so defensive. I’m not insulting them. But it sounds like you’ve gotten a little attached after just one meeting...”

“I’m not getting attached,” Ja’far shot back a little too quickly. Kouen noticed. He smirked as a slow flush made its way across the bassist’s freckled cheeks. “Anyway, I’m going to the library so I’ll catch you later.”

“Wait.”

Hesitantly, Ja’far turned. That commanding tone of voice was not something Ja’far had expected from the man. He watched as Kouen pulled a business card out of his wallet and held it out to him.  
“In case you’re still keeping your options open.”

What should he do? He hadn’t exactly committed to joining the Seven Seas Alliance, even though last night had been pretty fun for just a simple dinner and jam session. However, the thought of taking the card from Kouen felt like an act of betrayal. His cell phone buzzed quietly in his pocket, sending a fresh pang of guilt through his stomach. As much as he didn’t want to seem too “attached” to Sinbad’s band, he had to admit he was looking forward to seeing them again.

However, something about the tall, broad-shouldered redhead before him made him think that turning this man down might not be such a good idea. Finally, he reached for the card.

“Our practices are on Wednesday and Saturday evenings,” Kouen told him. “Drop by when you’ve got the chance. I’m sure the rest of the band would love to meet you.”

“Right... Thanks.”

He pocketed the small card and walked away, feeling the man’s eyes on his back as he headed for the library.

***

“Hey Ja’far, practice was amazing. You have to come back. Maybe next Friday? Peace.”  
With the press of a button, the screen went dark and Ja’far sighed, replacing the device in his pocket. While the message from Sharrkan had been nice, it wasn’t exactly what he had been hoping for. He sat up abruptly. Just what had he been hoping for anyway?

It was now evening. The last golden rays of sun had just disappeared over the horizon, leaving Ja’far sitting in the semi-darkness contemplating the events of last night. Everyone except for the band leader himself had texted him to ask if he was coming to the next practice session and despite his decision to retire years ago, he found himself seriously considering joining the band. His fingers brushed against the card in his pocket. Perhaps Kouen was right. Perhaps he was getting attached.

Suddenly, his cell phone burst to life in his pocket, a blazing guitar solo echoing throughout the once-quiet room, the sound not the least bit muffled by the heavy knit of his cardigan. Puzzled, he lifted it out and brought the screen to his face, wondering who would call him at such a strange time. His eyes widened.

“Sinbad?!” he cried, pressing the phone to his ear.

But the cheerful laughter on the other end of the line was definitely not Sinbad’s. It was high-pitched and feminine.

“Nope! Sorry, try again!” the girl giggled.

“Wait... Pisti?”

“Correct! Wow, you really do have a good ear,” the shop clerk mused.

“Thanks. Pisti, why do you have Sinbad’s phone?”

“Ah... haha, it’s a funny story, actually,” Pisti drew out. “I realized I’d left a bracelet at the restaurant so I went back for it earlier and Elizabeth handed me his phone. She said she found it under our table this morning.”

“Oh.”

So that’s why Sinbad hadn’t texted him. He couldn’t help the small sigh of relief that escaped him.

“Hmm...?? What was that?”

Ja’far could practically see the sly grin sliding its way across Pisti’s cheeks.

“What was what?”

“Oh, it’s nothing... never mind. Anyway, I have a question for you. Are you going anywhere within the next twenty minutes?”

Ja’far took a quick look outside before answering, “No.”

“Oh great! Listen, can you do me a huge favor? We’re closing up the store and I want to give Sin his phone back but my shift is over and I have errands to run. Could I maybe drop it off at your place instead? He knows where you live, right?”

“Yeah, he does... but why me? Why not give it to Masrur or someone else?”

“I checked with everyone and they all said they were too busy! Please, Ja’far?? Please?”

He thought for a minute. Something about this seemed suspicious but Pisti’s pleading voice was a force to be reckoned with; he shuddered to think about the kinds of things she might get away with at school.

“Alright. But just this once, okay?”

“Great! I already sent him an email telling him you had it. He’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks again, Ja’far!”

“Wait, what?! Pisti!!”

But the line had already gone dead. Ja’far was left slack-jawed and staring at the blank phone in his hands. This was planned. Something was going on and he didn’t like it one bit. He groaned and sat down heavily on the couch, his freckled face in his hands.

“What on Earth have I gotten myself into?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD my muse has finally come back! Dear sweet Solomon that took a freakishly long time. I really hope you guys like the update! This fic is finally moving again!!!

Barely five minutes had passed before Ja’far’s phone rang and a breathless voice on the other end of the line burst out, “I’m outside!!” He’d gone to the lobby door, where the excitable blonde, hopping from one foot to the other, stuffed the phone into his hands and then hurriedly asked to use the bathroom “real quick.” She’d spent a total of maybe five minutes in his apartment, oohing and aahing at the coziness of the place before dashing back out, leaving Ja’far alone again in an apartment that he suddenly realized was in no state to receive a guest.

Not that he planned on Sinbad staying for too long, Ja’far thought as he shuffled the pile of papers on his coffee table into a more organized stack. He was only here for his phone.

But what if there was something else Sinbad had planned to accomplish besides getting his phone back? Did he need to talk to Ja’far about something? If it was about the band, Ja’far would tell him that no, he hadn’t made a final decision yet and that he needed more time to think about it. But he had to admit, feeling wanted, maybe needed, after all those years of monotony was flattering. Maybe having something like this to participate in on the weekends would give him the kind of satisfaction that he wasn’t able to derive from his work. Even if it meant picking up a guitar again...

Just then, the doorbell rang, interrupting his thoughts. Startled, Ja’far dropped the cushion he was fluffing and whirled around. Was that Sinbad? How was that possible? His apartment complex was one of those where he needed a key to access the main entrance to the front lobby. Furthermore, the individual rooms were all located upstairs and his door still wasn’t marked with his name. Somehow, Sinbad had gotten into the building without the main key and figured out which room Ja’far was in without anyone telling him. Maybe Pisti had told him? But how could she have when Sinbad’s phone was sitting on Ja’far’s coffee table the whole time?

As the doorbell rang yet again, Ja’far tried his best not to think of the horror novel he had been reading earlier and slowly approached the door. Hesitantly, he peered through the peephole to see Sinbad, his head oddly magnified by the glass, with his hands in his pockets, looking curiously down the hall. When he turned his head back to look at the door with his strange golden eyes, Ja’far jumped back. Even though he knew it was impossible, he could almost swear Sinbad could see through to him on the other side of the peephole.

“Ja’far?” Sinbad called through the door, startling Ja’far yet again. “I know you’re there. I can hear you.”

The white-haired bassist immediately flushed in embarrassment. Fumbling for the knob, he yanked the door open to reveal the tall band leader, standing on his doorstep in a dark blazer and faded jeans with a guitar case on his back and a surprised look on his handsome face. Then he grinned.

“Hey, Ja’far!”

“How did you...?” the shorter man sputtered, his freckled face an unsightly shade of red as he moved back to let Sinbad into the apartment.

“Oh. I was kidding,” Sinbad answered cheerfully, popping his shoes off and winking at his host. “You really surprised me, you know. I didn’t think you were actually behind the door.”

“Not that!” Ja’far snapped irritably. “How did you get into the building?”

“Oh, your neighbor let me in,” he said simply, gesturing down the hallway.

“Neighbor?”

“Yeah, the one with the long dark hair. I met her outside the building and when I told her I was looking for you, she showed me to your room, said she lived down the hall.”

Ja’far frowned as he closed the door. She let him in just like that? So much for this being a secure building; that meant practically anyone could come waltzing in at any time if they ran into the right person at the front door. His thoughts began to drift back towards the knives in his closet when Sinbad prodded his shoulder and whispered, “She’s pretty cute. Is she a friend of yours?”

The white-haired man turned and looked his smiling guest up and down. On second thought, the building was probably secure enough. Sinbad just had a way with people, especially women from what Ja’far had seen so far. Even the bassist might be tempted to just let the man in if he’d just asked nicely enough. There was probably no reason to worry. Probably.

“Your phone’s on the table,” Ja’far said, gesturing to the couch area. “I don’t know what your plans are for today, but if you need a place to be for a bit, you’re welcome to stay here.”

“Great!” Sinbad exclaimed, setting his guitar case down on the nearest chair and unzipping it. As Ja’far watched, he pulled out a slightly beaten up acoustic guitar and began tuning it, his dark brows furrowing in concentration as he plucked at the strings.

“What are you doing?”

“Tuning Baal.”

“Baal?”

Were all of Sinbad’s instruments named after Solomon’s demons? Ja’far found his eyes being drawn to the eight-pointed star insignia carved into the body of the guitar. Unlike Focalor’s golden one, this one was tinted faintly blue.

“Yeah,” Sinbad continued, playing a chord. “Baal was my dad’s. I write all my songs with him.”

He carefully tightened one string, loosened another just a bit, and then released the sound of a perfect major chord into the room. Ja’far tried not to stare. So he was gorgeous, talented and he had perfect pitch? Just when he thought Sinbad couldn’t get any more ridiculous...

“No, I meant, why are you tuning a guitar in my apartment after Pisti told me you were coming to pick up your phone?”

“Because I’d like you to show me something,” he said, taking off the strap and holding the instrument out to Ja’far. “That baseline you played at the music store. Can you play it one more time?”  
When Ja’far didn’t move, the band leader rubbed his neck and laughed nervously.

“I know this all seems really sudden and really weird... but the truth is I need your help with something. When Pisti told me you had my phone, I thought this would be a good chance to ask you... The thing is, we need one more song for our lineup at the gig and I’ve got musician’s block. Nothing we came up with seemed good enough. But then, I thought of the baseline you played at the store...”

He held out the guitar one more time and offered Ja’far an earnest smile.

“Please?”

No wonder his neighbor had let Sinbad into the building just like that. This man could literally and figuratively charm the pants off of anyone. Just look at those pretty golden eyes...

“Alright,” Ja’far said, relenting at last. He tried to ignore the way Sinbad’s eyes shone with glee as he took the instrument and placed the strap over his head. It was a good weight, and while it didn’t have quite the same sound as a bass because of the thinner strings, it was a pleasing tone nonetheless. He closed his eyes and took in a breath, his fingers finding the frets on their own... when he felt Sinbad’s warm fingers brushing against his.

He opened his eyes to see Sinbad placing a dark blue pick into his hand. Somehow, the gesture had struck him as more intimate than it should have been and he deliberately mumbled his thanks without looking up. He closed his eyes again, praying that his thoughts hadn’t shown on his face and began to play. Once again, the notes easily flowed from his memories to his fingertips and while he played satisfactorily, Baal didn’t quite possess the same magic as the instrument Ja’far had seen in the display case that fateful day.

“That was great,” Sinbad declared, gently taking Baal back from Ja’far when he was done. “And you recall it so easily, even though you said you hadn’t played in years. Did you write that yourself?”

Surprised, but flattered, Ja’far blinked at him.

“Yes. I did.”

“Then, would you mind if we used something similar for the new song?” the taller man asked eagerly. A little too eagerly. Ja’far frowned.

“Actually, I would,” he said, crossing his arms. “That wasn’t just a baseline, it was—”

He stopped short and looked down guiltily. If there was one thing... one of several things he didn’t want to talk to Sinbad about, it was his former band.

“It was... part of something I poured a lot of time and effort into,” he finished quietly, his voice a low hush. He almost missed Sinbad’s eyes darting towards his arms and he self-consciously tugged his sleeves lower.

“I see,” Sinbad sighed, his shoulders sinking just a bit. “I figured you might say that. I probably shouldn’t have asked, huh? Thanks for showing me the baseline again, though. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

There was an awkward silence. Sinbad stood and went to the coffee table for his phone. Ja’far watched him pick it up and check the time. Did he have somewhere to be? As the street lamps begin to come on outside the window, illuminating Sinbad’s tall figure from behind, Ja’far suddenly found the thought of spending another evening alone in his apartment unbearable.

“Hey,” he called out, catching the band leader’s attention. “I... I can’t let you use that baseline, but... I can help you write that new song. If you’d like.”

“I’d love that,” Sinbad whispered. And before Ja’far could change his mind, Sinbad strode forward and took both the bassist’s hands in his and clasped them to his chest. He shot a look at the darkened window and back as a flustered Ja’far tried to figure out the least offensive way to extricate himself from the man’s grip. He couldn’t help the small grin that stole across his face when Ja’far finally yanked his hands away.

“This could take a while,” he drawled, studying his host carefully as the shorter man began to clear some space off the main table.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” Ja’far said, ducking underneath the table to unplug in his laptop.

“How about I treat you to dinner again as thanks?”

“That’s not really necessary—” Ja’far started, turning around. He stopped short at the look on the band leader’s face. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear Sinbad was openly staring at his ass.

“Let me help you with that,” Sinbad said smoothly, leaning down and reaching out for the cables.

And as Ja’far placed the charger in Sinbad’s outstretched hand, his heart beating wildly in his ears, he slowly began to realize what a dangerous situation he’d gotten himself into. Maybe he was better off taking his chances with those shady figures from around the corner after all...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BACK BITCHES

Throughout the rest of the night, he kept one eye on the music and one on Sinbad. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious this whole thing got. Pisti had been awfully insistent about bringing the phone by Ja’far’s place and it was just so convenient that Sinbad happened to visit with his own guitar in tow—and a special one no less. Right now, Ja’far would give his left kidney to look into the mind of the man sitting across the table from him, just to know what he was planning. The freckled bassist was almost certain that Sinbad’s plans for him didn’t end with just song-writing. He hadn’t realized he had been staring but when he accidentally caught Sinbad’s eye, the dark-haired man winked. Flustered, the bassist faked a cough and bent back down over his sheet music.

“So, is this the feel you were going for?” he asked after a minute, putting down his pencil and pushing the sheet of paper towards Sinbad.

His breath hitched in his throat when the man’s callused fingertips ghosted over his before carefully sliding the page out from under Ja’far’s pale hand. 

“Hmm...”

Sinbad’s golden eyes flicked over the page. He tapped his finger on the table and hummed softly, the low intonations sending a pleasant shiver up Ja’far’s spine. The bassist realized he hadn’t actually heard Sinbad sing at all during the last practice and now that the man was in his apartment, a preview performance wasn’t out of the question.

“By the way, who usually sings lead?” he asked casually.

“Hm?” Sinbad looked up, the pencil hovering tantalizingly close to his lips. He smiled. “Curious?”

“Not really,” Ja’far replied, looking away from the man’ teasing grin. “It’s just that when I write songs, I try to keep the singer in mind.”

“Ah.”

It hadn’t been a complete lie but Sinbad appeared to buy it. His face grew thoughtful.

“Then, how about composing it for Yamuraiha?” he said at last. “She gets lead vocals pretty often.”

“Really, not you?” Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud but now that he had, he tried not to let his embarrassment show on his face. Sinbad laughed.

“Okay, you got me. I sing lead most of the time, but after me, Yamu sings the most. I already have a lot of the lead vocals in our usual set list and I want to give the other band members a chance to shine at our next show.” His eyes softened. “It really matters to me that they each get a shot at the limelight. This band’s about more than just me and what I want, that’s part of why we’re doing this.”

Oh, he was good, tugging at Ja’far’s heartstrings with that deep, thoughtful look. For a second, the white-haired man considered that Sinbad might be telling the truth. After all, he had seen that earnest expression before, back when he was younger and still played music regularly. But that thought dissipated as soon as the taller man scooted forward and took Ja’far’s hands in his again.

“Ja’far!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “Thank you so much! It looks great so far. Tell you what, I’m gonna run out for beer, my treat. Be back in five!”

And without waiting for an answer, he was gone. Blinking, Ja’far stared after him, wondering if Sinbad always got this excited about alcohol. He hoped the man would at least hold off on drinking long enough to finish song-writing, otherwise he was going to get an earful from the freckled bassist. With nothing better to do, he shrugged and continued working on the music.

Barely a few minutes had passed before an angry buzz filled the apartment, startling him. Clutching at his heart, the bassist looked around for the source of the noise, which was coming from somewhere across the table. He didn’t have to look long before he found it: Sinbad’s mobile sitting on the floor just a short distance away from the coat-rack. He groaned. Maybe the band leader leaving his phone at Pisti’s was an accident after all. He picked up the urgently vibrating device and turned it over.

Whoever was calling apparently didn’t have an entry in the address book. A ten-digit number with a distant area code flashed brightly across the blank gray screen as the phone continued to rumble against his palm. Shrugging, he set the phone back on the table. He didn’t feel like getting involved in Sinbad’s personal life, better let it go to voicemail. But just as soon as the buzzing stopped, it started up again. He glanced over and saw that it was the same number as before. Apparently, they didn’t want to leave a message. Ignoring the noise, he went back to his music and waited for Sinbad to come back and knock on his door again. Unfortunately, the mobile laid quiet for no more than a few seconds before once again bursting to life, buzzing loudly against the wood tabletop and sliding towards his arm. Ja’far frowned.

At first, he’d thought the unknown number might have belonged to a coworker but now he was not so sure. Maybe Sinbad, thinking that he’d dropped his mobile somewhere, had borrowed someone else’s phone and called his own phone in hopes of finding it. If that was the case, he should probably pick it up. He hit “receive” and held it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello?!” an indignant male voice that _definitely_ did not belong to Sinbad snorted. “Really? I call you three times in a row and ‘hello’ is the best you’ve got? What ever happened to ‘sorry,’ you asshole?”

Ja’far scowled.

“Uh...”

“Sorry’s right, you asshole,” the voice snarked, even though Ja’far had never actually apologized. He thought he heard a muffled hiccup before the young man continued, “I was half a virgin when I met you.”

What the actual fuck? His jaw dropping, Ja’far abruptly pulled the phone away from his ear as the person on the other end started sniffling and complaining rather loudly.

“Yeah, you better be sorry!” the voice choked out. “You never treated me right, you know, always running off to hit on anything thing that had a pulse. You’re damn lucky I still feel like calling you. Anyway... I miss you and—”

“W-wrong number!”

Panicked, Ja’far hit the “end call” button and this time actually threw the phone across the room, just as Sinbad, grocery bag in hand, opened the door. He froze.

“So, your neighbor let me in and you didn’t lock the door after me,” Sinbad explained, trying unsuccessfully to suppress an amused smirk. Ja’far flushed all the way to the roots of his hair as the tall man reached down to pick up his slightly scuffed mobile. “Your turn.”

“Uh, you had a few missed calls,” Ja’far said lamely.

***

“Is it really that funny?” Ja’far sighed, running a hand through his hair. He threw an annoyed glance at Sinbad, who was laughing uproariously next to him.

“Well, yeah!” the band leader chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “But in all seriousness, I should thank you. Hopefully he doesn’t call back...”

Hopefully... Taking a slow sip of tea, Ja’far paused over his latest batch of fresh scribbles and tried to put the incident out of his mind. He wasn’t the type of person to butt into other peoples’ personal affairs, especially if they were anything like Sinbad; he got the feeling that if he started digging into the man’s personal history, he’d find more dirt than he’d know what to do with. He eyed the nearly empty bottle in Sinbad’s hand.

“Do you always drink when you write music?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Sinbad replied nonchalantly, downing the last of his drink and tucking the thin brown bottle into the bag. He glanced at the cup of tea in Ja’far’s hand. “Ah, guess not.”

“And here I was starting to think you weren’t the ‘sex, drugs and rock n’ roll’ type,” Ja’far mumbled under his breath. Sinbad smirked, a playful glint in his golden eyes.

“You know caffeine is a drug too, right?” he pointed out, making his companion choke on his beverage.

“Well, I’m not the one who’s been flirting with people nonstop since the day we met,” Ja’far countered. To his discomfort, Sinbad’s grin only grew wider.

“‘People,’ huh?” He leaned forward, his lips curling around perfect, white teeth. At once Ja’far realized his mistake. “I know you saw me talking to that girl at the bar the other day, but as for other _people_...”

The shorter man had to fight the urge to shrink away from that seductive smile. He sat there, locked in his seat, back straight and stiff as Sinbad paused, the tip of his nose barely an inch away from Ja’far’s. 

“I’m not quite sure I know who you’re talking about.”

His pulse throbbing in his ears, the bassist mustered a smile.

“Maybe it’s because you’re drunk,” he said, turning his freckled cheek and going back to his scribblings. He felt Sinbad all but deflate next to him. “I think we should call it a night. I’ll get you a blanket.”

“Blanket?”

“Well yeah, you’re not driving home like that,” Ja’far elaborated as he stood up and went to his closet. He opened the door to his darkened room and began to reach for the shelf where he kept the spare bedding. “And I can’t let you stumble home like that either. Someone might try to hurt you.”

“Really?”

He nearly jumped. Sinbad’s voice was right next to his ear. A pair of arms slipped over his shoulders and a warm weight rested on his body from behind.

“Do you know of someone who might be trying to hurt me?”

Fuck, for a drunk guy he had a good memory. Trying hard not to think about the hooded figures in the park, Ja’far replied, “Well, yeah. What about the guy on the phone?”

“Judar? He’s harmless,” Sinbad snorted. “I mean yeah, after we broke up he keyed my car a couple times and set the neighbor’s cat on fire but he’s harmless.”

That didn’t sound harmless to Ja’far. He felt Sinbad give him a squeeze.

“Does this mean you’re worried about me?” he asked gently.

Ja’far didn’t answer. Instead, he broke out of the taller man’s embrace and mumbled something about pillows. Blankets in hand, he exited the room, leaving Sinbad in the dark.

***

“No way! You two wrote this in a night?”

“Let me see, let me see!!”

As the members of the Seven Seas Alliance crowded around the sheet music Sinbad and Ja’far had written, the white-haired bassist suppressed a yawn. How in hell Sinbad had convinced him to come along to yet another practice session when he was dead tired from work was beyond him, but he had seen already that the man worked in mysterious ways, charming the pants off of anyone he talked to, sometimes literally. It was now a few days after the night in Ja’far’s apartment but Sinbad had insisted on not showing the music to the other members without the bassist present. Ja’far stood with his back to the wall, arms crossed with a small amused smile on his face, as he watched Pisti all but shove Sharrkan to the side in her eagerness to look at the music. As he watched their eyes reading through the notes, a familiar warm glow began to creep through his veins: watching the Alliance read through sheet music he’d created reminded him of the old days when he was the head of his own band, watching his old bandmates peruse something he had written for them.

“So, what do you think?” Sinbad asked.

“It’s great!” Yamuraiha exclaimed, her eyes shining. “Ja’far, you remembered how much I liked classical music? Even though I only mentioned it once??”

She mumbled something along the lines of “so thoughtful,” not seeing the way Sharrkan rolled his eyes behind her.

“So when are you going to finish it?” Hinahoho asked.

Ja’far blinked. “Finish? It _is_ finished.”

“What about lyrics?” Yamuraiha asked, looking to the bassist expectantly. “When are you planning to write those?”

“I’ve never written the lyrics before,” Ja’far answered candidly. The Alliance looked stunned. Spartos gaped at him and even Masrur was squinting at him with mild confusion. “Is that surprising?”

“Ah, well, whenever Sinbad writes the songs he also writes the lyr—” Sharrkan started, but he was cut off by a large hand clapping over his mouth.

“It’s not that surprising, no!” Sinbad laughed, tightening his grip over Sharrkan’s mouth as the tanned man struggled in his grasp. “You don’t have to do all the work, we don’t mind writing the lyrics if that’s what you want. But, you know, since you basically wrote this, I don’t think it would be right for anyone else to finish what you started. Do you want to maybe give it a try?”

Tucking his hand under his chin, Ja’far thought for a moment. It was true that he had thought about it but he was never the best with words. He had always preferred math to writing in school and sometimes even trying to figure out how to talk to people gave him a headache; it was why he preferred writing the music and leading his old band from behind the scenes. It would make much more sense for a frontrunner like Sinbad to take the lead on this.

“Well, I wrote it for you guys so you can go in whatever direction you feel like with this, I’m okay with that. You can even use it for your Battle if you want. Anyway, I’ve got to get going. Errands.”

He leaned away from the wall and went to grab his jacket and his bag by the door.

“Ja’far, are you sure?” Pisti asked, her round brown eyes even wider than usual.

“It doesn’t quite feel right...” Yamuraiha mumbled, toying with her shell earrings. Behind her, the other members mumbled their agreement, nodding quietly and exchanging glances.

“You know,” Spartos said slowly, “if you joined us, then a band member would be writing the lyrics. Won’t you please think about it at least?”

Wrapping his scarf securely around his neck, Ja’far paused by the open doorway.

“I’ll think about it.”

*** 

He said he’d think about it but it had been just an excuse to leave the gathering and go run his errands before the stores closed. The sun had just set and the streets were still bustling with people, the brisk night unable to keep them away from the lights and sounds of the shopping district. Wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck, Ja’far ducked into the convenience store he had been searching for, blinking as the bright fluorescent lights pierced into his retinas.

“Welcome!” someone called out from behind the counter. He nodded politely at the clerk, a blonde teenager with a warm smile and a thin red scarf wrapped around his neck, and quickly moved about the shelves for the items on his list. However, everywhere he went, something would catch his eye that reminded him of the band he’d just left: a pair of shiny purple earbuds, gleaming charmingly in their glossy new case, stationary and erasable pens that would be excellent for nights like last Saturday, a small box of wax earplugs that advertised themselves as having the ability to block out 80% of incoming sound... He stopped as he came to the earplugs. He really wasn’t planning to go to many more of those practice sessions so it wasn’t as if he’d have a real use for these besides blocking out the sound of the neighbor’s dog in the evenings. While he could use them to get a better night’s rest, he preferred to be able to hear movements at night, just in case an uninvited guest decided to drop by the apartment.

 _“We’re having a concert at the Warehouse,”_ Sinbad’s voice echoed in his head.

His mouth twisting in annoyance, Ja’far snatched a box of earplugs off the rack and headed for the counter before he could change his mind.

“Oh, you’re getting those?” the blonde clerk asked curiously when he scanned the earplugs. “They work great, I can really concentrate on what I’m doing when I use them.”

“That’s great,” Ja’far replied, smiling politely.

In a way, this teenager reminded him of Pisti. He was maybe half a head taller than her but he gave off a sense of innocence that Pisti had all but destroyed when she revealed her underage drinking habit. As he scanned the rest of Ja’far’s items, he nodded his head to some mysterious song playing in his head, the strange horn-like point of hair on his head bobbing comically as he moved. His lips were moving too and soon Ja’far realized with a start that he recognized the song that the young man was singing under his breath. It was one of the songs he’d heard at the Seven Seas Alliance’s last practice sessions.

“That’s a nice song,” he said, trying not to chuckle at the startled look on the teenager’s face when he realized he had been caught.

“Ah, yeah I really like it,” he admitted, his cheeks red. “It’s by this local band, maybe you’ve heard of them? The Seven Seas Alliance.”

“It sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, they’re really good! This isn’t one of their most popular ones but it really speaks to me, you know? Adventure, traveling with friends, setting out on your own with no particular destination in mind... It’s really great,” he finished with a sigh, a far-off look in his warm hazel eyes.

“It sounds like you’re a big fan,” Ja’far commented, squinting at the young man’s name badge, “Alibaba.”

“Yep! I have all their albums. They’re doing a concert soon too, at the Warehouse! If you like indie rock bands, you should check them out,” Alibaba exclaimed. “I hear they’re looking for a bassist these days but I’m still refining my technique. I’ll need a lot more practice before I’m ready to join a band or start one of my own.” He sighed wistfully, crossing his arms, his fingers still tapping along to a certain beat. Ja’far perked up.

“You want to start a band?”

“That’s the dream! Start a band, get rich and famous, hopefully get a girlfriend...” He sighed, looking momentarily disgruntled before launching right back into his plans. “I would be doing what I love: playing music with some of the greatest people in the world. Oh, I know it’s not going to be easy,” he said quickly, holding his hands up before him. “There’s going to be drama and it’ll be a lot of hard work but I’m willing to do whatever it takes, for the music.”

Ja’far smiled.

“That’s really great,” he said honestly. “I think I heard about the concert recently. I’ll go check it out.”

Alibaba’s eyes widened.

“Alright then, I’ll see you there... uh...”

“Ja’far.”

“Nice to meet you! See you later, Ja’far.”

As he exited the store, Ja’far couldn’t help wondering at Alibaba’s attitude. He seemed to idolize the Seven Seas Alliance. From their practice session, the bassist could tell that they were good but nothing to indicate how inspired Alibaba had looked. Although he had said it on an impulse, maybe he really should check out the concert.

Suddenly, his stomach growled, pulling him back to the here and now. He looked around and saw that he was standing outside a pub or lounge not too different from the one he had come to when he first met Sinbad’s band. Standing outside the door was a bouncer and beside him, a dimly lit glass case featuring a neatly printed menu and a small plastic replica of a Gibson hung opposite a large window. It had been a while since he’d last eaten out, he thought to himself as he bent towards the page. Without warning, a blast of noise came from beyond the wooden doors and he squinted into the darkened lounge; whoever these musicians were, they were pretty good and judging by the volume of cheers they were getting, they were playing a packed house.

“Excuse me, who is playing tonight?” he asked the bouncer.

“I’m not sure. I’m just filling for a friend tonight. But if you want to come in, I’ll need to see some ID. Sorry, bar policy.”

Mentally swearing he would be carded until he was fifty-three, Ja’far dug out his ID and presented it to the man, who squinted dutifully at it before allowing him inside.

As he stepped into the large room, his attention was immediately drawn to the stage, where an energetic group of five was in the middle of rocking out. Interestingly enough, all but one of the members had vaguely red-tinted hair, from the girl in the front, mic in hand, wearing her long magenta hair in an elaborate set of twin ponytails, to the man behind her, a tall, imposing looking figure with a serious face and a short red goatee... Ja’far’s jaw dropped.

It was Ren Kouen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished another chapter!!! *huff puff* hope everyone had a happy holiday!

“World on Fire is playing tonight?!”

How did the bouncer not know? Judging by the size of the crowd, half the town had to be in here! Hell, he was surprised no one had declared this performance to be a fire hazard yet. Then again, he thought, eyeing the firehouse patches on a nearby young man’s jacket, maybe they did know and nobody cared; the band was that popular. He returned his attention to the stage, where the song was finally winding down amid a chorus of whistles and applause. 

“This next song,” the girl announced, her clear, feminine voice echoing throughout the room, “goes out to all the fans who have been supporting us from day one. This next song is for all of you who came to see us at our first performance and are still here today! Thank you so much!!”

Ja’far could barely hear the end of her sentence through the cheers and a deafening roar filled the room when Kouen strummed a single chord from the back of the stage, signaling the start of the next song. The pretty woman to his right began playing her bass guitar quietly and the girl at the front of the stage closed her eyes, tapping her foot to the rhythm, waiting, waiting... When the drummer finally started up, her pink eyes snapped open and she let out a perfectly-pitched scream of a note.

As one, the crowd threw their hands in the air, pumping their fists up and down, some shouting their support from the sidelines or the back. Wincing, Ja’far took a step away from the enthusiastic young man on his right and reached into his bag for the earplugs, suddenly thankful he’d gotten them. After stuffing them into place, he looked back up at the stage, where the musicians were fully rocking out.   
If he had to pick a style to associate them with, Ja’far would say they were more punk than classic rock. The rhythm was fast-paced, energetic, the young man at the drums moving at lightning speed, his arms flying about in a motion Ja’far could only describe as controlled flailing. His grasp of rhythm was impeccable—despite how he looked when he played, he never missed a single beat.

The pink-haired girl at the front had a great voice but from the amount of control she had, he’d guess she had some classical training in the past. She was quite young and very energetic, almost manic in her movements and expression, perfect for a lead singer of a rock band. Behind her, the older, dark-haired woman concentrating on playing bass served as a stark contrast. Her technique was something to behold and Ja’far watched with approval as she quietly set the mood with the baseline, ever present but never attention-grabbing. Interestingly enough, the man on the keyboard appeared to be falling asleep. At times, Ja’far couldn’t tell if he was nodding along to the music or if he was simply nodding off, especially with his long red hair covering one of his eyes. Then there was Ren Kouen.

Despite standing off to the side, a few paces behind the lead singer, he had such a commanding presence. It was clear to anyone who was watching which of the band members was the real leader. He played like a general commanding his army, a conductor without a baton, his crimson guitar flashing in the light as he moved. Typically, the musicians in a band would follow the pace set by the drummer but here, he could tell they were all keeping an ear out for Kouen’s movements. He was truly everything one could want in a lead guitarist, talented, passionate and...

“He’s so hot,” sighed someone on Ja’far’s left.

“Yeah, I’d totally have his babies,” a girl agreed.

 _He is pretty charismatic_ Ja’far thought to himself. But when he returned his gaze to the stage, he found himself unable to keep his eyes off of the handsome band leader. Sinbad was quite good –looking too but Kouen projected a sense of discipline that the other man did not. He seemed like the type of person to lock himself in his room for hours on end just to work on his technique whereas Sinbad seemed the type to just go by ear. They were very different but each had found what worked for him. Suddenly, Kouen’s eyes swept over the crowd and locked onto Ja’far’s and the corner of his mouth twitched in response, the faintest sign of surprise. The white-haired man felt a strange jolt of embarrassment, as if he had been caught doing something wrong or sneaking in here without permission and he quickly looked away as the song played on.

And then they came to the bridge. The crowd’s roar diminished to a dull hum and for a moment, it was as if every eye in the room was turned towards Ren Kouen. He closed his eyes and breathed in once, as if he were about to dive into the ocean from a high cliff. His fingers changed positions on the frets and he began to play. Ja’far watched with bated breath as Kouen _immersed_ himself in the music, more and more of his heart laid bare with every note he played. It was beautiful.

All too soon, the solo came to an end and he resumed the usual chords, the girl at the mic once again taking center stage and giving her all until the song itself ended with one final blast of sound.  
“Thank you!” she cried hoarsely into the mic, amid wild cheers. “Thank you! Good night!!”

As the crowd began to disperse, a small group of people beginning to line up in the back to talk to the band members, Ja’far spotted Kouen looking in his general direction, and he looked away self-consciously before their eyes could meet again. Without thinking, he turned and made for the doors.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” he mumbled, trying to push past the crowd but the way to the exit was nearly blocked from the number of people trying to leave. Despite the substantial number of people who decided to stay for meals or autographs, getting to the door was going to take a long time. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look up into the face of Ren Kouen himself.

“Hey.”

“Hey...”

The tall red-headed man smiled, sweat still beaded on his forehead from the heat of the stage lights and the rush of performing.

“Mind coming with me for a second?” he asked.

Ja’far’s heart was in his throat. His mind went blank.

“I kind of have to—” he started before the pink-haired girl ran up behind Kouen and cried, “Brother, why did you run off? We have autographs to sign and people to—Oh!”

She blinked at Ja’far, her big magenta eyes trained on his face.

“Are you a friend of my brother’s?” she asked sweetly.

Out of the harsh glare of the stage lights, her hair was more of a dark fuchsia than pink and Ja’far noticed that she wasn’t very tall either; the illusion of height was created from the length of her platform boots and ripped jean shorts. Her pale pink hoodie was covered in what looked like graffiti flowers and she wore a beautifully jeweled hair ornament on her head.

“Kougyoku, this is Ja’far,” Kouen said. “He works in the same office building as I do. Ja’far, this is my little sister, Kougyoku.”

As Ja’far shook hands with her, the drummer and the keyboardist arrived behind them. They were whispering but Ja’far could still hear them.

“Heh. No wonder. He’s cute isn’t he?” the drummer said.

“Shh! Don’t let him hear you say that,” the keyboardist hissed.

“These are my little brothers, Kouha and Koumei,” Kouen continued as the two stuck out their hands for handshakes as well. “And this is my cousin, Hakuei.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the dark-haired woman said, smiling pleasantly, the mole near her mouth traveling upwards with the corner of her lip. “You must be the bassist from the music store. We’d introduce you to our manager but it seems he couldn’t be here tonight. ‘Personal business’ he said.”

Kouha rolled his eyes, lazily rebraiding a few strands of his hair.

“I still don’t get why you want him around so badly,” the young man mumbled. “He’s kind of crazy.”

“He has connections,” Hakuei answered patiently. “It’ll work out well for us, you’ll see.”

“What did you think of the show, Ja’far?” Kougyoku asked earnestly. She took a big swig from a plastic bottle and sighed with relief, her breath smelling of lemon and herbs.

“It was great,” Ja’far answered honestly. “I think you’re all very talented.”

“Thank you!” Kougyoku exclaimed, clutching her bottle of tea. “We’re going to win the Battle of the Bands, just you watch!”

“It’s good to be confident but I don’t think we should take the Seven Seas Alliance lightly. We should probably practice a little more, just in case,” Koumei added thoughtfully.

At the mention of the rival band, a hush fell over the group and they exchanged glances, avoiding eye contact with Ja’far. Just then, a fan ran up, calling Kougyoku’s name and waving a small notebook and a pen to ask for her autograph. The group immediately perked up and Kougyoku herself twirled to face him, her voice cheerful and her energy restored as she signed for him, chatting away happily to Ja’far’s amazement. Within moments, the rest of the crowd had followed suit, lining up to speak with their idols, notepads and questions at the ready. Before anyone could approach Kouen, however, he took Ja’far by the arm and steered him away from the others.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” he whispered, as they looked on from a distance.

“Yeah, it’s almost like you can’t tell how tired they are,” Ja’far agreed. At this, Kouen raised an eyebrow.

“You can tell they’re tired?”

“Well, yeah. I used to be in a band so I know what it’s like to put on a face for people.” He smiled wanely. “Just not this many.”

There was a pause. Kouen looked like he wanted to ask something but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Ja’far decided to break his silence first.

“You know, Hakuei is very good,” he said. “I don’t know why you’re looking for a new bassist.”

“She wants to spend more time with her little brother,” Kouen said. “She feels like she’s at work too much and doesn’t spend enough time at home. They’re very close.”

Ja’far nodded, unsure of what to say. Luckily, Kouen seemed to have made up his mind and he leaned in close, a discreet whisper escaping his lips.

“So would now be a good time to buy you that drink?”

His deep voice sent shivers down Ja’far’s spine. After all this time, Kouen still remembered that? For a moment, he hesitated. A part of him wanted to accept but a part of him felt strangely guilty for even being here. What would Sinbad think if he were to walk in and see him talking to this man? Wait. Why did Ja’far even care? It’s not as if he’d said yes to joining the Seven Seas Alliance. He opened his mouth but then his eyes fell on the mirror above the man’s head. It was completely dark outside.

“That sounds really nice but I really do have to get home,” he said firmly, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “It was nice meeting your band and family.”

He waved and shouted his goodbyes to the rest of the band members, who waved back, Kouen looking a little more forlorn than the others. Ja’far’s hood was on before he was even out the door, his mind already mentally calculating the safest bus route as he clutched his bags closer to his body in the cold. As he took his seat, he found himself wondering what a performance from the Seven Seas Alliance could be like.

***

He was on his way home when it happened. There was a sound, an odd sound, like someone dropping a small parcel several yards behind him. Ja’far turned, squinting into the darkness but there was no one there. Thinking it was probably his paranoia getting the better of him, he shrugged and moved on, continuing on his way to his apartment. But then, the sound came again. And again. Soon, he could deny it no longer.

They were footsteps. They stopped with him and started with him, mirroring his own movements so well that it was impossible to ignore, the person following him so skillful that he might not have noticed had he not learned to do the same several years ago. The person padded quietly behind him, never coming closer nor falling farther behind him as Ja’far approached the corner of his street.

Beads of cold sweat running down the back of his neck, Ja’far reached into his jacket sleeves only for his fingers to brush against bare, clammy skin. He’d stopped wrapping his weapons around his arms a long time ago; they were still in the apartment. Without turning around, he broke into a run across the street, the flickering street lamps above him illuminating his path for his foe to see. However, before he could reach the other side, more figures emerged from the bushes in front of him, all wearing dark hooded sweatshirts. Ja’far could feel their eyes on him even though their faces were hidden and he cursed as he was forced to back up. He watched in horror as a row of hands emerged in sequence from within dark long sleeves, all wielding the same knives Ja’far had learned to use, their sharp edges gleaming in the flickering street light.

“Ja’far...”

“Get back!” he screamed, reaching inside his own jacket in a desperate bluff.

At once, searing pain bloomed in his arm and he clutched at it as blood sprang from the wound. There was a hollow, amused laugh and a tall man with long, pale green hair stepped forward, his eyes alight with mirth as he pointed a long staff at Ja’far’s freckled nose.

“You knew we’d find you eventually, Ja’far,” the man laughed. “It was only a matter of time.”

Ja’far grew pale.

“Ithnan...” 

“You look surprised to see me, Ja’far,” Ithnan mused, coming closer and closer. “What, don’t recognize me when I’m not carrying your stuff?” When Ja’far reached deeper into his sleeves, Ithnan let out a derisive snort. “There’s no need for that. We know you no longer walk the streets armed.”

Ja’far’s blood froze in his veins, paralyzing him as he watched Ithnan’s grin grow wider.

“We’ve been watching you, you know. For quite some time now. You’re nowhere near as careful as you used to be, Ja’far...”

His pulse pounding like war drums in his ears, Ja’far turned on his heel, trying to run again but this time, the toe of his sneaker caught in a large crack in the road. He fell to the ground, winded as all the air was immediately knocked out of his stomach, his chin scraped and stinging from the impact with the gravel. He rolled over just in time to see Ithnan and his cohort bearing down on his field of vision.  
“Don’t worry, we’ll make it quick,” a woman’s voice crooned from within one of the hoods as Ithnan raised his staff high above Ja’far’s head. “After all, you are an old friend...”

Ithnan swung.

***

“NO!!”

Ja’far jolted awake in his seat, a sticky note stuck to his forehead as he frantically looked around. His chair squeaked angrily as he swiveled this way and that, searching for a threat that only existed in his dreams. Gradually, his gasps slowed into real breaths when he finally realized he was staring around his office floor, probably looking like a crazy person. He slumped in his seat, his heart still beating wildly as he shrank away embarrassedly until the inquisitive eyes of his coworkers returned to the monitors in their own cubes. Ja’far groaned.

This was the third time this week he’d fallen asleep somewhere he shouldn’t have; his insomnia was finally getting to him. Curse his inability to stay off the streets after dark—if this kept up, his blood pressure would kill him before the figures did. He rubbed his temples and tried to return his focus to the spreadsheet before him. Granted, he hadn’t actually stayed out that late the night he’d seen Kouen’s band perform but just the realization that he’d taken such a huge risk was enough to send his cortisol levels through the roof. He’d dashed home that night, fumbling with the key in the lock before tearing off into his room without even checking his mail for the day. That night, he’d stared long and hard at the open box of knives in his lap, wondering if it would be a good idea to actually wrap them around his arms again. If this kept up, he’d resume his old habits, including reducing his shower time to sixty seconds or less and in today’s working environment that would be completely unacceptable. He ignored the sudden impulse to check his armpits and instead focused on his ringing phone.

“Hello, Ja’far speaking.”

“Hello, Ja’far. It’s me.”

His dark eyes widened.

“Yamuraiha? Sorry, this isn’t the best time. I’m at work. Can I call you back?”

“Oh, you’re at work? I’m sorry about that,” Yamuraiha’s soft voice came slightly static-y from the receiver. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to drop by tonight. You haven’t come in a while.”

“A-ah, yeah. Sorry, I was kinda busy for a while there,” Ja’far said apologetically.

“So are you busy tonight?”

He paused. The truth was he wasn’t and while he had been thinking about seeing them again, the renewed fear of running into the hooded gang was keeping his enthusiasm in check. Just then, he spotted someone approaching his desk with a large stack of documents.

“I might be. It looks like there’s a lot of work to finish before the next deadline,” Ja’far answered truthfully. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

Feeling somewhat guilty about it, he hung up before she could give her response.

He was still thinking about it later that evening as the office was about to close up. Yamuraiha had not messaged him back, nor had any of the other members of the Seven Seas Alliance attempted to contact him that afternoon. While he hadn’t exactly been expecting them to blow up his phone with calls, he was still somewhat surprised that not even Sinbad had tried to find some way to scam him into doing something with them, given how that last weekend had been. At that moment, he recalled Alibaba’s excitement over the upcoming concert. His eyebrows knitted together in thought.

“When did Sinbad say the concert was going to be again?” he mused aloud. He could only recall that it was at the Warehouse. If only he had asked Yamuraiha when it was...

“Thanks for your work today, Ja’far. You should go home now,” a coworker said as he passed by Ja’far’s cubicle.

“Huh?”

“It’s getting pretty late. We can always continue on Monday. You worked really hard today so go home and get some rest okay? It’s the weekend after all.”

Ja’far blinked. It was Friday already? No wonder Yamuraiha had called. He hadn’t given much thought to it but now that he thought about it, they might have been thinking he’d been dodging them for a couple weeks already. And he had gone to that “World on Fire” concert too, even though it had been unintentional... Deciding to push away the guilt, he stood and thanked his coworker and then left as well. He frowned up at the darkening sky as he exited the building. It would probably be best to go home for the evening, to not stay outside. Maybe he'd call Yamuraiha when he got home, to apologize, to—

“Ja’far!”

He whirled.

“Sinbad?!”

“Hey!” the taller man called, waving to him from his car. He was at the stoplight with the window rolled down, shouting at him from the passenger seat, his long purple ponytail hanging out the window as he shouted to Ja’far from the middle of the street. His large gold hoop earrings gleamed at him from the shadow of the car, reflecting the bright lights of the nearby office buildings. From behind him, Ja’far could make out Masrur sitting in the driver’s window. “We’re grabbing dinner before practice! Hop in!”

He stared.

“What?!”

At once, someone else rolled down a window from the back seat and a short blonde girl poked her head out the window and joined Sinbad in shouting at him from the middle of the road.

“Hurry up! The light’s going to change!” Pisti cried, banging her fist against the car door.

Before he knew what he was doing, Ja’far had tightened his grip on his bag and pelted headlong into the street, to where an open car door was now waiting for him. The light had changed and people were honking at him as he ran towards the beaten-down vehicle but all the same, they were waiting. Hands reached out to take his bag and pull him into the car. He heard a loud bang as the door slammed shut behind him but he was in and the car was rolling, driving, rushing down the street with the rest of the vehicles on the road and him bumping along in the backseat, squished against the many backpacks as he fumbled for a seatbelt. The cold air blew his bangs every which way as he finally buckled himself in, Pisti and Yamuraiha laughing excitedly as he straightened his clothes and sat up properly.

“Nice to see you again, Ja’far,” Sinbad said, grinning from the passenger seat.

Ja’far managed a laugh himself.

“Nice to see you too.”


End file.
